


Changes

by croixsouillees



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/croixsouillees/pseuds/croixsouillees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where children travel from the future to change the past, what can you do when you're presented with a child you were never supposed to have? [Implied Chrom/Robin]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Possibilities

When he meets her, it's in a hostile environment and surrounded by Risen. She dances among them like a child playing deadly tag, ducking under weapons and slipping behind broken pillars to dissuade her pursuers, picking them off as they came closer.

There is uncanny familiarity with her, in the tilt of her head, in the smile on her face as she speaks to him, and her flippant discovery and acceptance of her amnesia.

Morgan. That is what she is called, or she recalls she is called, but there is no reason for him to doubt that. Her identity is her own, and he accepts it. She is sprightly and cheerful, but is careful in battle, shifting between the clumsy, inexperienced grip of the sword and the distant safety of tomes, and he is glad that she sticks close when he bid her to.

The gladness he feels is conflicted and it is only the urgency of imminent death that distracts him from the bob of dark hair, the familiar brown eyes and the Brand of Exalt unmistakable in one of them.

"Mother!"

When the Tear of Naga is retrieved and their party regroups, he escorts the young Morgan to his tactician, distinct in the throng of people, and similarly making her way toward him. It is a ritual that they check upon each other after each skirmish, unspoken and understood between them. At her side is a young boy, nearly identical to the girl he has retrieved, and introduced as Morgan too. The naming confusion is by far the least of his concerns. They are twins, fraternal but eerily alike when placed side-by-side. They emulate their mother strongly, from their bearing to their attire. More than just her, though, both Morgans are indomitable in their cheer, in the color of their hair, and all the more striking for their marking.

If not for Lucina, Chrom would never have thought to look so closely.

Chrom smiles at the new additions and it is difficult, so difficult, to meet Robin's eyes when the children rush off to meet the other time travelers. There is silence between them, uncomfortable because of what has occurred, and paradoxically comfortable because he isn't alone in this. She feels the same way as he. In some twisted way, he is grateful for that understanding, but wonders if that would be the cause of their undoing.

He makes the effort nonetheless. Robin is pale, her smile crooked and he wonders how much of that is reflected in his own visage. It is difficult to voice what he wants to say, to assure her, to speak of the twin elephants they aren't dancing around at this moment.

"Not now." She finally says when he finds the strength to clear his throat, sounding like she never wanted to talk about it. His eyes are drawn to her hands, wrung together and even now, still empty. He tears his eyes away from them, burned.

He doubts he will forget; the image is seared into his mind. He cannot stop thinking.

It is impossible, the conversation inescapable. But it could be postponed for later, he thinks, watching her glance around surreptitiously, at the hustle and bustle of camp. She's right. Not now. He nods and promises to meet Robin that night, and they mutually leave for other duties.

Chrom goes to inform his wife of his return.


	2. Abrasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pressure and burden of keeping a secret is created by the mind. Robin learns this firsthand.

The evening passed without even as much as a word between them. She had been too busy, making arrangements for Frederick where to place the twins' quarters, wondering if it was proper to have them share a tent, to let them stay with those who had space, or perhaps to just separate them entirely. The evening meal had been spent deflecting inquiries to their father and ducking the twins' inquisitive eyes whenever that particular topic was brought up.

The Shepherds are a nice, close-knit unit, almost like a large, dysfunctional family. There were the only family Robin knew, and she would never trade them for anything. But in the throng of friends that had somehow made their own little families between them during and after the war against Plegia, being one of the few who remained unmarried made Robin the target of well-meaning, exasperating concern.

Of all the people to have twins! They said, grinning at her. Speculation already ran rampant; was she seeming someone on the side and hadn't been sharing? Perhaps they haven't met yet, and maybe they could help. Robin had feigned ignorance; she didn't have time to make relationships like that, she had reasoned. There was a small blessing, she thought, that Morgan (Morgans? If there were two, did she refer to them in plural form?) could not recall their father, and none of the others dared press either twin to remember.

Certainly not after the very enthusiastic bout of head-thwacking that ensued the day after, anyway. Robin was very sure that some of the other children were on shift rotation to keep an eye on either Morgan, to make sure they didn't harm themselves or, like that one time, aided each other in bashing their head in.

It was neither of their faults, she thought as she caught Chrom's eyes across the clearing, that they were unable to discuss Morgan. She's to check on the state of their weapons, and he to the group maneuver training. Several days have passed now, and there were certainly were more pressing things to talk about, like the maps that would help bring them closer to defeating Walhart's crusade, the men who needed rest, the continued return of the dead whose origins they were unable to pinpoint.

That is what Robin tells herself, when the gulf between them widens and her nerves are strung from all the  _other_  people who find the time to bring up the topic of Morgan to her between her daily duties.

Both Morgans are charismatic - bright both in mind and in personality, and they are nigh unstoppable when they get started on this or that. It takes little time for them to slot into place in their big family, starting off as the little brother and sister you were ashamed to have and quickly endearing themselves to become family you just can't help but be fond of. Between them, they have the entirety of the army charmed by their good cheer.

Robin can't help but think and wonder – is she truly worth their admiration and love?

With Chrom and Lucina ensuring loyalty and faith, and her twins providing the entertainment, Robin is just glad for the raised morale.

That she could even consider all four of them in the same thought just made her wish that she could just approach Lucina and tell her that maybe she does end up having an affair with Chrom. The young woman would gladly run Robin through with her sword, and then Robin would not have to bring up the possibility to the man she made said affair with, only it hasn't happened yet.

_Yet_. Let Naga strike her down for her traitorous thoughts. Neither Chrom nor his wife would appreciate it, and whatever opportunity they had from years ago… that had passed.

"I think it runs in your blood," Maribelle says one day, and there goes the stone that she seems to be carrying everywhere, dropping heavily into her stomach faster than the clatter of the books she is – had been - attempting to balance. It is walking lessons today, and Robin still does not understand the difference between holding her head high without turning up her nose, nor does she really understand why she subjects herself to Maribelle's lady lessons. "You had charmed your way into the Shepherds, and now your twins too! I've never seen my Brady so energetic."

Maribelle prattles on about Robin's daughter and once more, the ball in her stomach unknots uncomfortably. It is another arrow dodged, and she is not sure if she should be grateful. It doesn't stop there, of course.

"What kind of mother are you?!" It is Severa this time, in the middle of the mess tent after the noon meal and Robin mutes her cringe. Severa had been sitting with the Morgans, interrogating them about something or another, until Frederick calls Morgan away ("Which one?" Even from far away, Frederick's sigh was pronounced, "Both of you.") It is Frederick who often checks where people's skills are left wanting, and the twins' assessment has been postponed long enough. Chrom, Lucina, and Laurent had followed soon after, for different reasons, and she is glad that they left.

As it was, there were still too many people milling about for her comfort.

Robin places her tray of food in the pile for washing and gestures for Severa to follow her elsewhere. This was not the place for a conversation like that. In the corner of her eye, Sumia looks worried and Cordelia looks like she might intervene, but most of the others look curious and somewhat apologetic. Robin wonders if Severa had made herself the spokesperson for everyone. She just wishes… she wishes a lot of things.

She doesn't want to humiliate either Chrom or his family, nor provide proof that would demean either of her children, all due to indiscretions that another her from the future had done.

"Severa, let's talk about this somewhere else."

"No! Everyone agrees and it's a PROBLEM." Severa emphasizes this in her usual way, stomping her foot in irritation.

Robin barely hears her own voice, faint as it was. "… Everyone…?"

"Of course! We're not dumb!"

_Everyone_  knew, of course they knew. It was hardly a secret, not when both Morgans interacted with a number of people on a daily basis, the hereditary Brand of Naga imprinted on their eyes. In comparison to the former Exalt and Chrom whose Brands were placed in the most conspicuous places possible (though Chrom's could be hidden), Owain had gotten by with his sleeve and Robin still didn't know where Lissa hid hers. For her son and daughter, the best way to hide it would be following Lucina's example. And even then, Lucina had to resort to wearing a mask just to avoid identification, and her younger self's brand was visible to anyone who gazed upon the child. It didn't take a smart person to see and make a connection, and what had Robin been thinking, pretending that no one would be able to see.

"I'm sorry." She pressed her hand to her face, over her eyes, and she isn't prepared for the judgment, the pity she knows she will see now that everyone knew. She isn't sure if she is having a breakdown, but Cordelia drags Severa along and it is Lissa who pulls Robin away to break it to her gently, perhaps.

They sit in her tent and Lissa makes small talk at first, babbling about this or that, but Lissa sees the expression on her face and just looks determined. "It's okay, Robin, I understand! Severa was a little harsh but…" She says, and Robin feels even more alone – how could she understand? – and dislikes herself for the thought, as Lissa has been nothing but like a sister to her, and self-pity had no place in wedging this distance between them. Severa's harshness had merit. "Morgan – both of them, they're very nice kids. They're a riot, and Owain likes them. And well, I like them too! But Robin…"

Cousins. She ought to talk to Chrom about that, but she hasn't even spoken to him about Morgan, and Owain is her children's cousin, and Lissa is their aunt, and Lucina is their half-sister, and she was sure that she was going somewhere special for her death.

"Don't you think it's ridiculous that they're both called Morgan?" Lissa says this slowly like she is addressing a child, and Robin is glad for it. As it is, she needs Lissa to repeat her sentence. "Everyone's having problems when they talk about them, or you know, call them. Morgan, which Morgan, the boy or the girl and everyone's bothered by having to do it, but if you think it's okay, then we can live with it- er, Robin?"

It isn't until Lissa begins shaking her that Robin realizes that she has perhaps lost it. In relief, in confusion, or just perhaps despair that the charade continues, and all that worrying over the twins' shared _name._  She is laughing, nearly doubled up and crying, and idly she wonders if having illegitimate children coming from the future was the last straw, piled on top of the war against Valm, on top of the realization that Validar was her father, on top of Lucina returning to tell them that in the future, Chrom dies before his time and there was nothing Robin can do about it, and now, she has yet to talk to her best friend, properly  _talk_  to him, at all.

"I'll talk to Morgan first." She says after the laughter is over, brushing the tears away from her face. Small things. She can start with small things. It is their name, after all. It wouldn't do to change it without their consent. She reassures Lissa that she is fine, that she just needs some lie-in and barely convinces her to leave. "Thank you, Lissa."

She will talk to Chrom in the morning, she decides, deciding to avoid another late night by sitting on her bed, debating on whether or not to employ Morgan-inspired sleeping techniques with a thick tome. She is deciding between a half-spent Thoron and a barely-used Ruin when he knocks and enters without hesitation because certainly, he has never learned. They look at each other for an awkward moment and there are things she wants to say, like perhaps,  _are you mad_  and  _people will talk_  and other things she doesn't even want to consider or has considered but regardless, she never wanted to think about him that way when he takes the decision out of her hands and stacks the tomes on a crate.

"Let's talk." He says seriously, sitting beside her. Their knees touch, and somehow, she thinks this is like their late night discussions, before everything had gone out of course. This is her best friend, and she would never turn him away.

She gazes into his eyes and Robin feels the weighted ball roll away, and she finally breathes. "Now is a good time as any."

 


	3. Interlude: Mirror Image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan and Morgan, on self-reflection.

One's actions always has a cause, a reason. One's actions always has an effect, and that effect will always be the cause of another action. Whether by obvious or subtle means, one's actions will always impact another's, and so on.

This concept is something that Morgan takes to heart and cradles it. It is not one of mother's sayings, nor is it something from their muddled recollection of their past. It is merely an observation that can be applied to people as well. He stops by a puddle to observe it for a moment, and after a moment's pause, she does too. It had rained the night before, not too strongly that moving today was going to be difficult, but just enough to cup and gather precipitation in any likely crevice.

They shared a look between them and grin, taking turns in stomping in the puddle and holding up the hems of their coats to avoid getting the edges muddy. It's a futile effort. They shriek and laugh while they run, babbling apologies to Laurent who got splashed more than the twins combined.

Morgan bets that Laurent is going to be mad the whooooole day. Morgan bets that Laurent is going to be mad for a  _week_.

It doesn't matter who is right, just that they are sure that Laurent will forgive them, and that Morgan is going to play tome stackers with him next time, and Morgan is going to assist him in battle. It is their way of making reparations.

It is also their way of forging bonds. It's unintentional, but the stone is cast and the mud is on Laurent's robes, and they are, of course, apologetic about it (they'll make proper time for that later) but they are glad, since it means they can learn more about Laurent, and Laurent they. Such is the way of things. They do things their own way, sort of, which is fine by them, because in the end things work out the way they want to, and it just so happened that their way was always enjoyable, even if it didn't work out.

It was logic that was confusing only to anyone who isn't Morgan and possibly mother. Sometimes, they are required to explain that when people get annoyed or fascinated by what they do, but not always. Mother knew everything, so it was to be expected that she could understand.

Twins, they're called. They have amnesia, both of them, and that is an oddity in itself. All that they can remember is mother, mother teaching them, guiding them. They recall nothing else, nothing of their father, or if they have another sibling, or if there was another existence in their lives that wasn't mother. Sometimes, Morgan says other things, of having a father and she had no mother. Sometimes, Morgan wonders if he truly recalls having a sister.

They hold these memory fragments between them, sometimes, when they play enemy spies and sneak into each other's tents to grasp fingers and squeeze and take comfort in each other, because reality is a confusing thing, more so than their recollections. Their pasts are a puzzle, and the pieces don't always fit, but that's alright. Break the frame, they giggle to each other, hushed whispers in case Lucina prowls too close, stalking the space between their mother's tent and Chrom's as per usual, though Lucina never gives a coherent answer when they ask.

They are Morgan. It is a name they share proudly, and do not understand the confusion of their peers, but they can see why they're frustrated. But they don't understand the problem; there were two Lucinas, two Minervas, and two Morgans. They could tell which one is which easily, because Morgan is he, and Morgan is she, and despite their many similarities, they are still separate beings. (It's harder, with Minerva, but that is something that they won't tell either Gerome or his mother.)

They both love mother, and aspire to be like her. They like the same things, even the vegetables that they used to dislike. They do not understand Lucina, but admire her regardless. They do not recall a world where everything has gone mad, where Lucina is alone with her Falchion, where the others' parents are dead, where mother is not with them.

What they see is Lucina surrounded by family and friends who love her. They see parents with their children, nearly of the same age, who are willing to die and live and grow old with them. They look at each other and see a distorted image, what might have been, what could have beens, and trace their right eyelids with gentle, fleeting touches.

_Never stop learning. Take account of everything that you can._

They do not understand why mother stares at them so, when they are pressed against her sides and there is a lull because as of now, they have yet to find a reading pace that suits the three of them. They're getting better at it, and there's real pressure to conform, but it gets rowdy when one asks a question and the other tries to ask at the same time, only to find that they are asking about the same thing, and they try to speak over each other for the sake of it. Mother just rolls her eyes and reprimands them both and they cherish this time with her.

She always answers their questions. All but one.

_Never ask anyone else to do what you are not willing or prepared to do._

They wonder if it would make a difference, considering, calculating as they spar with Chrom, under Lucina's critical gaze and Frederick's soft running commentary that poses as backhanded advice. Lissa stands to the side, vulnery and heal staff at the ready, though that doesn't stop her from cheering them on, and jeering at her brother when she could.

They wonder if they should take their cue from their relationship.

Falchion glitters under the sun, and Chrom's eyes are so blue and so intense that they wonder if they will drown in it. They wonder if there's any of that in their own features.

They wonder if this is what Lucina feels, to have a father who loves so deeply.

_Calculate your chances and, if it is the only choice… you are the only acceptable casualty._

This is their reality. They have a mother they love. They have an extended family that they won't do without. And regardless of their past, this is their present, and their future is built upon it. They subscribe to nothing but their mother's unspoken principles.

Even without all the pieces of the puzzle, or even the right ones, they can create their own picture, one that is theirs and theirs alone.

_This is the path of a tactician._

They look at each other and share a secret smile as they part ways.

He engages Lucina in conversation on the way to Tharja's tent, inquiring after Henry, and where might he find him. He does not mind either, as long as one of them is willing to teach him. Naturally, Lucina and he get along well, that's what he thinks, but time will tell. (They had never any doubt about this - Lucina is her father's daughter, and Morgan is their mother's son, and their parents' bonds are tight enough that it is no question that it could happen between their children, if given enough nourishment.)

She gazes at them as they leave, pouting because she wants to talk to Lucina too, but there are other things to be done. She lifts her eyes up to the sky, searching them in hopes to catch Sumia or Cordelia, because as much as she loved the Justice Cabal, she isn't sure how much she can learn from Cynthia without engaging in too many theatrics (though those were nice too). When Chrom magically appears at her side to catch her by the elbow every now and then because she forgets to look at where she is going, then who was she to deny the family-style invisible bond-like thing that tied them together?


	4. Rightful King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrom faces the reality of his self.

Chrom watches the assessment with interest; first it is a test of the Morgans against each other while they observe. Standing at rest, Frederick has his lance ready and his eyes are sharp on the movements of each twin. Lucina stands near him, interest brightening her eyes and face. Laurent's interest is as sharp as the glare of his glasses is bright and he holds a writing implement in one hand and a few loose sheets in another.

Before Robin, Chrom has never encountered a tactician who would both strategize and fight. If it weren't for Robin, he thinks, they would never be able to watch something like this.

It is obvious in their movements that they are thinking first, each sibling measuring the other and coming to strategies and discarding it. It's a battle of intellect and judgment, of narrow-eyed looks and - here Chrom squints and Frederick sighs loudly - the twins are just grinning now, seriousness giving way to playfulness. Frederick coughs to get them moving, and they do, and it is a battle of skill now, of who can apply their strategies to their fight.

It is their playfulness that he remembers that they are still children. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Lucina frown, all too serious, and his heart sinks. Too grave, he thinks of the children who had traveled back in time. All of them still so young, and grew up too fast that despite being of nearly the same physical age as their parents, it was still easy to make the distinction that they were still  _children_.

Frederick reprimands the twins for their foolishness and Chrom laughs and waves it off. There was no war here, he emphasizes, just a friendly spar among comrades. Frederick sighs as was his wont, and Lucina stares at him in befuddled astonishment. He winks at her and gets a bright smile in return, and he counts that as his win.

There was a war in their future, and in hers, he had failed his children, his friends' children. He feels the weight of a crown he does not wear.

There is a secret that Chrom harbors and attempts to hide, but like all secrets that is shamefully kept, it is something that he dislikes about himself and, perhaps more importantly, it is something known by those who know him well and accept him for it.

There is no love lost between him and Ylisse.

What his closest confidants do not know is how deeply he harbors his resentment for the country he is meant to lead.

Ylisse is full of those who had been drained of their life, of its blood, of its people. His father had been Exalt and had campaigned for war against the neighboring Plegia; a ruthless move that had driven the Mad King to earn his name, and had caused the social ruin of house Ylisse.

It was his father's consequences that Chrom and his sisters had inherited. Had it been only himself, Chrom would not know what he would have done. But it was Emmeryn who shouldered the hatred that had been their father's legacy. It was Emmeryn who had loved their people and accepted their hatred so that she may begin to ease their grieving. It was Emmeryn who had been stoned for blame that was not hers, for wanting to raise their people from despair.

Ylisse had hated her, had scorned her, had loathed her even as she had attempted to bring peace to them. She had sheltered him and Lissa from it, and her efforts had gradually changed people's opinion of her.

They had loved her because she had taken their abuse. Now that she is dead, Ylisse has lost its martyr and weeps for their loss. Chrom has lost a sister, all for the fickleness of his country.

Chrom does not accept Ylisse because he cannot forgive them for that. Ylisse, in turn, would not accept him as king, as it's heart is set on an Exalt years dead. Chrom does not want to be its king, and refuses to take the name of Exalt.

Like Ylisse, he has a selfish wish: he wishes for Emmeryn to return, for he misses her, but he does not want her to live life as she did before, not among people who hate and hated her. But.

But...

There is hesitancy there, wretched as it was, as his wish for her return is not truly divided from his wish to do as he did before, roaming Ylisse as a Shepherd. Only a prince, not a king, and not an Exalt. He wishes for a life of freedom, where he could turn back time and escape the constraints of his station.

Chrom looks past the gathering toward the top of the tent he and his wife share, she no doubt waiting to shower him with wordless contempt. Today, she is once more reluctant to leave their quarters as a statement. The situation of war does not agree with her, unsuited as she was to anything but living in Ylisstol. The constant movement and the lack of luxuries displeases her, yet she came along regardless; insisted on it, for reasons that he does not know but has seen Robin and Frederick share a look over when it was announced. Has seen it in the looks his Shepherds had given him, after they began their journey and their relationship deteriorated.

Theirs is a messy relationship, and a depressing tableau that he had hoped would change, given time. He loves her, for she is the mother of his child. But now, he is not sure.

He fears that his enthusiasm for defeating Walhart is for purely selfish reasons. That trying to preempt an invasion of his country by defeating a conqueror, he has become one himself.

The Princess of Chon'sin is grateful and looks to them for help. It makes a difference in perspective - he and his people are not invaders, but rather liberators. Instead of aiding usurpers, they are aiding a wronged princess.

It is a difference in perspective that makes the burden on Chrom's shoulders lighter. He takes comfort in its justification, that he is still walking the path that his sister would want.

In silence, he ruthlessly suppresses any inkling of resemblance between himself and his father, the oppressor of Plegia. On nights when his wife is sleeping at his side, and he is free to think to himself, he denies that going to war parallels his conceptualization and realization of the Shepherds in his youth.

A sword and world full of trouble. That is the legacy he had left his daughter. Was it his dissatisfaction with his circumstances that led to his failing?

Chrom is led out of his thoughts when he hears the high lilt of Morgan's voice. Lucina's replies in her usual paced enunciation, part of it discomfited, and he can see why. The brother is fighting Frederick now, so Lucina has the sister's full, starry-eyed attention. They are talking about partnering up in the next fight, Morgan detailing a possible maneuver they can try on their own. Lucina is nodding along with seriousness, but every so often she lifts one of her hands to hide a smile that reaches her eyes.

He wonders, if she had spoken to him that fateful evening, would things have been different? Had he known that she had been his daughter then, would he have married her mother for that reason instead? He slides his gaze to Morgan, effulgent in her earnestness, then to the other Morgan whose narrowed-down attention reminds him of a cramped alcove, separated from his court by only a door. He remembers slim hands in his own, squeezing for strength and reassurance, of lips curved into a sympathetic, sardonic smile.

He remembers her words, whispered and heartfelt, apologetic and understanding, and he heeds them and the counsel he trusts. He played the part he is required, he has sired an heir, but this place he is now… it is part of the future he wants to create. He yearns to be part of that picture, of that future, in the present.

He will be following the pattern that had ruined the future. He will be ruining the tenuous balance that he holds among the nobility, and gladly, if it means that he is a happier man for following his heart, if it means that he can have more of this vision, a reality. He would apologize to Lucina, but to do so would be insincere.

He is a selfish man. He isn't as altruistic as Emmeryn, despite his aim to be closer to her vision. His strength had always been in his impulsivity and in action. He leaves his children to have their moment and walks toward a certain tent with a prominent banner.

In this, he takes after his father the most.

There is one person whom he is sure will curb him and his nature, whom he trusts to keep his secrets and set him on the right path if need be. However, their connection is a symbiosis and already he has strained her side with his passivity. He must make his own decisions, using his own judgment, even if it meant that he must clash with her. But for that to happen, Chrom would have to be at Robin's side, and she at his.

He stands at Robin's tent entrance and does not hesitate to enter.

He does not believe in fate, does not believe that things will come to pass as Lucina heralds. He is his father's son, and he believes in and walks Emmeryn's path, however difficult it may be. He is no Exalt, no, but he is human. He will err, but it will not cripple him in his efforts for something better.

Chrom looks at Robin, at the books she juggles, and approaches.


	5. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The difficulty of conversing.

The tent is stifling and overflowing with books on strategy, stacked on crates and would even be on the ground had she not treasured them so much. As it is, each book is carefully tucked in places where they could avoid getting dirtied. Her coat is left hanging on one such pile, and her customary clothes folded with her weapons of choice in easy reach.

In this room that Robin has made hers, Chrom is impressed by the minimal proof of her vanity. Now more used to seeing articles of impractical clothing and breakable phials full of perfume and creams in his own quarters, he sees one such box close to the pack she often carried with her. It is a mere fraction of his wife's baggage, and he is tempted to remark on the unexpectedly lady-like objects but refrains.

His ear stings in memory of the soap dish, and deliberately does not think of what came after, scrabbling to chant a nursery rhyme in his head. He has to do it a few more times than he ought to, but it is worth it. He is older, now, and he doesn't need to react like an awkward, hormone-driven mess. As it is, he feels like he is blushing.

Robin stares at him with that usual knot between her brows, the line of her lips conveying the usual scrutinizing, wordless "are you afflicted with something?" He attempts a sheepish smile and her expression clears into exasperated neutrality, but she's smiling now.

He has escaped that lecture. He doesn't get out of the rebuke she makes for his lack of propriety, what if she was changing or asleep? He clears his throat and hums a few bars of the rhymes, then gestures toward the doorway instead.

"Do you want to step out instead?"

"Mm. This is fine," she shrugs, and his attention is drawn to her shoulder and away.

He didn't think it would be so difficult, to talk about this. He tries to think of a way to start, but somehow, all previously prepared lines elude him.

"Right!" He says enthusiastically and with energy, just to find the momentum. Robin stares at him wide-eyed, like he was going insane and then frantically shushing him, but he doesn't stop, taking a few deep breaths and confesses to her:

"I didn't think it would be this way."

"Um… what?" Robin looks flummoxed, but seemed willing enough to listen to him so long as he isn't too loud. She tilts her head to prompt him to continue, her expression wan and drawn and he wonders how much sleep she's had, how much she had taken upon herself that her eyes are red-rimmed.

Like Frederick, Robin always took too much on her plate. Unlike Chrom's trusted retainer, however, it was more difficult to gauge her activities, because she was the type to take breaks when it suited her. Unlike Frederick, who was unanimously voted as a busybody and naturally needed some rest whenever possible, Robin could deviate from her usual schedule and no one would be the wiser.

"We talked about it before," he clarifies, when he realizes that he lost some of the wind he had built up. He takes this time to look her over, really look. She looked back, mildly irritated over his pauses but waits it out.

Not for the first time, he marvels at how small she is, how narrow her shoulders are without the coat that she wears everywhere. This is a realization that could never get used to, the dichotomy of the fragile-looking woman under the proud tactician who has gained his full confidence and impeccably manages their growing army without a complaint, both on the field and out of it. They are one and the same, he knows, but knowing isn't the same as intuiting. Chrom swallows, and his eyes cut away before he can stop himself. "How you would tutor Lucina in a subject when she's old enough for lessons."

For the first time, Robin looks up and meets his eyes, and her smile is gentle and fond, though partly exasperated. It's an expression Chrom knows well, for it is part indulgent and too knowing for his liking. "Chrom, I already said I will."

They had been in one of the rooms that Robin had claimed as hers. He had been acting every bit of an ecstatic father that he was and Robin gamely nodding along to his cheer. They had been ramblings of a too-happy father, not too different from the babbles of his infant daughter, but he thought he had been able to impress what he wanted.

A tutor. A guide. For Robin to be there, to share the milestones he experienced with his daughter. It was as natural as breathing, and more than an extension of himself, he knew that Robin would be there to listen to him complain about the boys his daughter will one day attract, about anything at all, that involves Lucina, because Lucina is, like Robin, an intrinsic part of Chrom's life.

He glances at her hands again, focusing on her left for a ring that is not there. It never occurred to him that he would one day return the favor, for hers.

Theirs.

"This Lucina is a little too grown to be taught." Robin tells him with a small, private smile. He wonders about that, if Robin and Lucina had spoken before. He thinks they will get along, if given the chance. "I'm not sure if there's anything I can teach her."

"No," he says gently, mirth coloring his voice. "I think Lucina has more to learn from you than ever."

She demurs and he bumps shoulders with her, because he knows that he is right in this. "If you say so."

"I know so."

But there are other things that they have to talk about, and talking about Lucina brings Robin that distant, distracted look that he knows is heavily influenced by guilt. With everything distracting him, the war, his daughter, their children… he wonders if he might have overlooked this as well.

"Do you regret it?" He asks her as the silence stretched, and he knows that she understands what he means in its unspoken context. It is in her stiffening, in the widening of her eyes and in the shift of her feet that could mean flight. He knows that is a question that she wants to ask but she is probably afraid to know the answer. He is too.

He is sure that if asked the same, he wouldn't be able to give her a straight or believable answer.

Such was the problem of one who had the ear of nobility, whose job was, at its core, to weigh the lives of those who followed them, to direct them to their deaths.

She does not meet his gaze, and he leans forward to grasp her hands, the way she gave him strength to do what he needed to do, for reassurance, for absolution. He presses their foreheads together so she knew that he was expecting an answer.

He will ask her what it was she was crying about, but perhaps, now is not the time, and it might be that he isn't suited for that role, when he is sure that he may prompt more. But there are some wounds that require deepening before it can be healed, and this wound, he thinks, has been left untreated for too long.

Chrom is grateful to the Morgans; would he even realize that there was a need to talk like this, had they not come?

"Do you regret choosing my wife for me?"


	6. Interlude: Where They Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrom and Robin make the logical choice, and miss the obvious one.

The end of the war heralded a period of peace among the people of Ylisse. Plegia spent its resources rebuilding and was busy setting up the next king to pursue further conflict. Their ties to Ragna Ferox's Khans assured them of a stable alliance.

Naturally, this meant that the Ylisse's own nobles had the opportunity to find the time to engage in their own past time, which tackled significantly less important matters.

They are wary of her at first. She is an unknown factor, one of the new Shepherds that have arrived at Ylisstol since the war and was one of the few who have stayed.

She would normally pass beneath their notice; the number of Chrom's Shepherds has swelled during the war, and with all of them underfoot it was difficult to tell one from another. She, however, is a constant at Chrom's side, nearly insignificant until someone makes to ask and the prince absentmindedly introduced her as his tactician.

They doubt that she is what is said to be: their image of his famed tactician, her brilliance and prodigious ability does not match with what they see. She attempts to correct them, but to idle minds, speculation and opinions matter more than the truth, and it she throws her hands up in defeat since truly, it wasn't worth arguing the point.

It is obvious that she had  _Prince_  Chrom's ear, and any of their attempts to curry her favor always ended in airs of success only to realize, later on, that they had never acquired her interest in the first place. She wasn't easily bought by flattery or through bribery, and her attempts to show her worth in state matters - each day their prince adds more to her responsibilities in a show of trust - merely fan the flames of continued political machinations and significantly higher levels of vitriol.

They say terrible things about her now. She is an amnesiac without pedigree, plain in her appearance, and was the prince's get on the side. She had ties to Plegia, and that was why she had Tharja stalk her everywhere. It's talk that Robin can handle, simply because it is something she does not care for. She pays it little mind until she hears Lissa arguing with one such lady who had spoken too loudly. Afterward, Frederick sets her aside and instructs her with what she needs; information, education in court affairs that she lacks.

Frederick is almost sweet, like that. She understands why he's wary of her, though that wanes the more they spend time together. But she is grateful to him, as despite that, they are still working together for the sake of House Ylisse, and it is through his instruction that she begins to add to her responsibilities; more etiquette through Frederick, more of Ylisse's history courtesy and noblisse oblige from Maribelle, and borrows Sumia's thematic novels for inspiration.

The latter isn't very engaging, but fiction is informative in its own way. Sumia is overjoyed by Robin's interest and is helpful in providing her in books. When Cordelia hears of Robin's sudden search for fiction through Sumia, she adds to Robin's growing pile of references with what could only be termed self-help books.

This makes her a little more efficient in what she does. Naturally, as difficulty never took account of people's efforts and people are never always satisfied, one concern is becomes prevalent among Chrom's court. The idea grows momentum until such time that Chrom often found her after particularly trying meetings with them.

He looks harangued when he drops across her table gracelessly. There is that troubled look on his face when she glances up from her ledgers – today she is accounting for their expenses and it isn't particularly interesting. It is of importance, but she can afford the distraction. Sometimes, it is more important to talk to the people than shut herself off with facts.

It was too early, they both agreed, to marry. Chrom wishes to marry for love, and Robin would have nothing less for him. But as it was, his peers speak of nothing but succession. The Lady Emmeryn had been Exalt since she had been young; unnecessarily so, but she was loved, and her presence was accounted for, was expected. While she had not shown any particular inclination toward romance, there had been, Robin had confirmed through chatting up the help, enough suitors she would be able to pick from.

People had plans for Emmeryn, and now that those were cut short, they were looking toward Chrom. In case, they had said, and Lissa did not seem, to them, like a viable option.

Robin and Chrom agree, for a completely different reason. It is not because she was unsuited as a princess; no, Lissa could rally people to her cause through loyalty and friendship alone because her heart was in the right place. Neither of them wish for Lissa to become Chrom's replacement in case, not when it would expose her to foibles that could be avoided.

"I never knew how much sis had sheltered me." Chrom says with a touch of irritation, when one such discussion encroached the evening. It was summer, and the heat has seemed to have gone to people's heads. "It's as if they're  _parading_  their daughters around me."

"They were," she agrees with a faint touch of amusement, because it had taken this long for Chrom to notice. It was a common spectacle now, and many of the noblest of families had started to whip out previously-unknown daughters for him to choose from. "Though I think one of them was newly-widowed and waiting for you to notice."

Chrom paused and didn't seem like he was able to comprehend it. "She's old enough to be my mother!" He at least knew of whom she spoke of.

"She is. She has a daughter too, one who's near my age."

"Gods!" Chrom threw his hands up and continued to pace. Falchion, thankfully, was resting on her desk and her walls were unlikely to crumble when Chrom was in this mood.

She watches this for a moment longer before standing. She pours them some of the cooled wine someone brought them some time ago. It's still chill to her touch. She offers him the stem of one glass and holds the other. Their hands brush when he takes it, his hand poignantly warm in contrast and she retreats as he mulls over the liquid.

"So… Is there anyone that you fancy?"

He eyes her and lowers his glass, an abortive move. "Aren't you supposed to wait until I'm properly imbibed before asking questions like that?"

"I thought I ought to prompt you anyway, out of concern for your welfare." She sniffed, adopting a tone she had heard all too often during Chrom's Parade of Potential Paramours. At this point, Lissa had even begun nicknaming them.

"Thank you,  _mother._ "

"I suppose if you prefer her company, I can send a missive for that lady to come visit you. She seemed willing enough. What was her name again-?"

"Robin, no!"

They laugh over it and it lightens the conversation but when he speaks again, there's a pink tinge to his cheeks and he looks sheepish.

After a moment, he decides to answer her question. "No… not at all." He sounds even confused about it, because Chrom was a natural at overlooking romances. Robin hadn't even needed to look that far for examples. She hadn't even stayed that long in the Shepherds before she realized that the best of friends Sumia and Cordelia were helplessly head-over-heels over Chrom. Everyone knew about it, that is, everyone but Chrom.

He looks at her and tilts his head, leaning forward a little to give her his whole attention. "What about you?"

They were only the handful of unmarried people left in the Shepherds. Fighting together, protecting one another,  _living_  together forged bonds among people. After being exposed to such life threatening situations, the urge to live to the fullest was strong, and relationships – it was no surprise that marriage would be an option.

There were five weddings already set for the rest of the year. Already it seemed like it was a trend, a happy epidemic. It seemed that neither she nor Chrom had yet to catch it.

"I never thought about it," she admits. "There was Maribelle's kidnapping, the Risen… the war…" and Emmeryn. She shook her head. "And I've been swamped with work here." Romance had never been a priority, but she wasn't against the idea.

Her priority has been to House Ylisse, to Chrom and his family that had rescued her. Between them, they share a rueful smile.

His smile was gentle, with a tinge of weariness to it, but with a sense of kinship as he spoke. "We're such a pair."

They know that their time – his time was running out. As the next Exalt, his freedom is limited; he is no longer his own man. He faces this reality now, at this moment, looking at their weary situation. So instead of dodging the issue as he would rather do, he drains his glass in one go.

"Please, Robin."

* * *

After that was a flurry of activity. Word had gotten out that Chrom was genuinely considering each of his Parade of Potential Paramours (well, most of them, anyway), and their efforts increased a hundredfold. Their work is cut out for them, and Robin begins with a list.

Naturally, she decided to approach Maribelle and brought Lissa along. It was easier to get their opinion when Lissa was so eager to talk about each woman as a little sister is wont to do when her older brother was being pursued by the masses, and Maribelle's harsh but critical assessment of each one was a boon.

The list gets shorter until it was merely a fifth of what it had been, and after that, Robin approached Ricken to have a better grasp of their backgrounds. Oftentimes, she caught Frederick following her during her quest, but otherwise never questioned him, and he never offered assistance.

She speaks with each of the girls, discussing things of no importance and things of importance, because she needs to grasp what they know, how they act. More than that, however, she observes them outside of face-to-face interaction. Panne is a reluctant helper, but Robin would slave away in the kitchens to make up for it.

In the end, however, she spoke with Frederick. Like her, no, even longer than she, Frederick had watched over and protected Chrom from any threat, no matter how mundane. Above that, he cared for their lord's welfare, and his was an opinion that Robin could not do without. He scrutinizes her quietly, judging her, and she allows it.

She is deciding Chrom's future, because Chrom trusts her. For him, for his acceptance of one such as her who woke without memory and had nowhere to go, for the family he had given her. It is a weighty thing, his trust.

Frederick gives her his thoughts, and though she can see that he disapproves of the idea, there is necessity. Urgency. And so, she measures each girl, keeping fact and opinion and observations in her head as she traces each imaginary path to possible futures.

It is a marriage of convenience.

She weighs between positives and negatives, she makes contingencies so that Chrom may have his freedom, if all goes sour. Robin wishes for those scenarios to be wrong, that Chrom and his future wife will be human, enough to change and fall in love with each other.

That summer, they stand in one of the hallways out of earshot of the heralds and she feels the weight of her decision. She whispers names to him, speaking of possibilities and the negatives, but omits the escape plans that she has created. Sees the trust and resignation in his eyes and felt the need to reach out, to grasp his hands.

She is there for him, she wants to say, but can't. She would offer herself, but that was not an option. Not when she was a nothing in the eyes of his court.

He bids her to remove his glove and she does, puzzled by the order and it grows when he takes off his ring and presses it into her hand. Their Brand, their House insignia is beautifully crafted on its surface. His palm his warm as it lays flat on hers, and the ring is warming in the space between.

"Keep it," he says.

Within a month, Chrom has a beautiful wedding, celebrated by (almost) all, and it is nearly a festival.

The small pouch she keeps around her neck stops irritating her skin. She imagines that the ring is still warm.


	7. Happiness is...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrom and Robin come to an agreement, of a sort.

It's an uncomfortable topic. Robin wishes she could say something to deflect the confrontation but that isn't what she is asked. That isn't what they deserve, when they are, at the very least, friends. Instead she swallows and looks at Chrom in the eyes, feels the weight of his ring at her throat and asks the question that she is almost, nearly sure of the answer.

"Are you happy?"

She notes the sudden strain in Chrom's expression, the sudden faraway look in his eyes and the crease at the corner of his mouth whenever he thought of something distasteful. It smoothens out soon after, but she has seen, and, however belatedly, he knows it. "I- can't say I'm not." He says carefully, truths laid between them with thinly veiled pretense. He looks into her eyes and intones, more seriously, more truthfully, "I can be happier than this."

Chrom's thumb brushes over Robin's knuckles in a gentle, subtle gesture, his fingers curling around her palm and lets some of it rest on her wrist. She feels her chest flutter with unfamiliar discomfort and she looks down to stare at their hands.

The mark at the back of her hand is ugly and grotesque against her skin. There were pieces of a puzzle that she could not complete, but here was the hint to her identity, and already she does not want to pry farther into what she thinks is an abyss. Chrom's hand covers it, and she is glad for it; the muted shine of his ring helps buoy her from thoughts of things that she has not done to the acts that she has already done, had requested him to do. She can focus on her mistakes, in the consequences of her actions.

"Then I can't say that I don't regret it. I've ruined your life twice over now." She tells him, and she wishes for the sturdy weight of her coat, for the anonymity of her hood. "I should have thought of another way; what sort of advisor am I, that I can't consider and put your feelings first? I had doomed your sister, and now your future-"

"-is not set in stone." Chrom tells her firmly. "We can change things, for the better. After we found Morgan - after we found our son and our daughter, I could finally see a possibility that we had never attempted." This close, he could feel it when she began to tense, when she realized where he was getting at.

"Don't say it!" She said, low and urgent and panic creeping into her. "Don't say anything that we will regret."

"I would rather say it now than regret not being able to later. Robin… do you dislike me? Do you hate me?"

"What? No!" Robin all but tensed in her conviction. "Chrom, no, you're-" She blushed and fidgeted. "… You're… important to me." Saying it aloud was like prying at well-placed nails.

Suddenly bashful, Chrom seemed to grow more confident and, conversely, more shy. "I thought of you - what an irreplaceable friend you are to me, and found myself thinking… found myself becoming aware of it. That you were more than just a friend."

"You're married!" She all but shouts at him, frustrated at having to remind him of their current circumstances regardless of what brought them there. Robin pulls away from his closeness, needing the space to think, to disconnect so she could reorient herself of the facts. She stands to create as much space between them, trying to be calm and failing, to distance herself but it's an overreaction. It seems like an overreaction. It's something that she has attempted to deny ever thinking. "We can't entertain "

Chrom's eyes flash with similar frustration and he lunges to capture her, to keep her where could have their camaraderie back. "We have _children_ , Robin!" He yanks harder than he wishes to and it unbalances her.

Her full weight careens into him and his knee impacts something hard. Her bedside table topples to the ground, bringing her candle with it. They stiffen and look over to the edge of the bed, but there's no imminent death by fire yet they do not breathe a sigh of relief. They have caused a racket, and they wait a few beats for worried patrols to come by to ask if there was a problem.

There is none.

Chrom is sure to give their soldiers a talking-to in the morning, but for now, he laughs, low and relieved, because then he doesn't have to explain his foolishness. Robin elbows him good-naturedly and partly out of irritation, but he apologizes and promises to clean up her books for her. He keeps her pinned in place, he using most of his weight to keep her laying in bed, and he smugly rolled them until they were on their sides, with his arms wrapped around her torso and stubbornly plants his chin on the crown of her head.

They are too close now, but he cannot see her face, and she cannot see his, and if they pretend that they are not affected by it, then it didn't - wasn't happening. Chrom won't let the opportunity go to waste.

"If someone comes in, they'll get the wrong idea." Robin says after a few moments of futile struggling. Or the right idea. It was difficult to tell, now.

"Better the wrong idea than taking our conversation out of context." He tries to keep the sting out of his rebuttal; he is sure she already knows this. Otherwise, she would truly make an effort at escaping, so Chrom mentally tallies another win for him.

The risk of rumors spreading of them sharing a cot in her tent in the middle of the night is lower if they keep quiet and discreet. In comparison, discussing Chrom's marital issues and the Morgans situation out in the open would only damn them. There were ears everywhere, and Lucina had already proven herself a capable sneak. That her last known company were the cunning Morgans only increased the possibility of eavesdropping.

"Does this do nothing to you?" He asks softly, nosing at the nape of her neck, where the thin bit of leather has hung for over a year. Her skin is cold, but she is warming to his touch, relaxing even, and her gasp, at least, tells him that his efforts were not wasted.

"Chrom…" She turns her head slightly and he could now see her cheek, but he refuses to move from where he was. He wasn't going to press this any farther than this, not tonight, and not without her consent. Chrom was just trying to make his point stick.

He swallows and squeezes her around her middle. "They didn't recognize me." It was a whisper, only for her ears, and he feels the stretch and strain of his heart at the thought. At the fact. "They didn't recognize Lucina. Lucina, Owain… none of the children knew them, from before they came here."

Robin is still and Chrom knows that she is already thinking of the many reasons why that would be so. "I don't want their doomed future." He continues. But that was nearly an abstract concept, a world where a grim future awaited them. What had brought Chrom here was significantly more base, less idealism and more a yearning. "I don't want a world where my children are strangers to each other.  _I don't want to be absent in my children's lives._ " A breath. "I don't want a world where you aren't there with me."

What else would that world be, if their children did now know him, unless they had been separated?

"Oh, Chrom..." Robin turned in his arms and touched his arm, light at first before it laid down more firmly, more solidly. "You are and will be a great father. Lucina loves you, and the child back in that castle will love you too, when you return." When Robin brought him back safely.

And she would.

He sighs into her hair and just embraces her like she was his lifeline. "I know I'm coming onto you like a wyvern in heat, but… please give it some thought."

"… I've been looking into wealthy, handsome wyverns lately." She murmured, resolve slowly crumbling. "But only in my spare time."

"I'm in luck then." He huffed out a laugh.

"But Chrom… what about your wife? About Lucina?" She asked more urgently, the unbridled worry there making him pull back to look at her, to smile at her.

It's a grateful smile, gentle and rueful at the same time and Robin's heart aches for him.

"I wondered… why did you never consider yourself to be my wife." He brushes his thumb over her knuckles again, and it lifts to cradle the pouch she kept, to untie it and reveal the ring he is meant to give his wife. It was given in trust, but perhaps he would have no reason to have it returned. "I wish you had."

Robin has thought more of and has looked out for Lucina more than he could expect. It would have certainly been better than this, Lucina without a tearful reunion and her mother remaining distant in her tent.

It was a gift of time, of consideration and affection, he hopes, and wishes. "Can you promise me that you'll try to look at me, past your general and friend, but as a man and you as a woman? I won't rush you for an answer immediately," he said, sitting up and watching her do the same. "We have our responsibilities, but please give it some thought."

"Just in my spare time," she repeated. Chrom laughed in agreement, and they shuffled around until Chrom could leave freely.

He hesitates for a moment, and Robin made to stand and escort him out, and they do an awkward little dance of propriety, he insisting that she stay in bed and he could show himself out, and she refusing to be pampered like a princess. They compromise: he tarries, and she all but pushes him out.

There is a lot for her to think about tonight.


End file.
